


Chocolate

by The Key To Imagine (whiskeywit)



Category: The Beatles
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 11:35:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10436784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeywit/pseuds/The%20Key%20To%20Imagine
Summary: Title: ChocolateRating: PG-13Word Count: 717Disclaimer: I don’t own the Beatles, will never do either, and I am not claiming this has ever happened for real.Set: (Late) 1970’s





	

**Author's Note:**

> Backup of old fic originally posted to the Beatles community JohnheartPaul, currently residing on key_to_imagine, currently in locked status. Summary contains the header as is on the LJ post.
> 
> Originally posted pre 28 DECEMBER 2008.

When I opened the door to my kitchen, it was years ago, I immediately noticed the small package that was lying on the table. It was wrapped up with a wonderful silvery kind of paper, looking luxurious and yet simple. I couldn’t restrain a smirk when I picked up the little box. Even though Paul had left a couple of hours ago already, I knew it was his instantly.

He regularly stayed over at my home, no denial about that. Cynthia hadn’t ever known, not even suspected, what we were doing upstairs, at the attic. I had my recording studio there. However, the truth was, we were more than just friends and sometimes I still think we are even though our contact is none to minimal. It had just started out with normal friendship, that was right and it still would have been if it only hadn’t developed into more - sharing kisses and further. Nevertheless, that’s not related to this. Maybe necessary to know - but not truly related to it.

Anyhow, I found the little box on my kitchen table, shook it a bit because I wanted to know what it was. I remember that it was wrapped up very well, because I wasn’t able to guess. Then I made sure Cynthia wouldn’t be somewhere near me whilst I’d open it, and when I was assured of the situation being alike that, I sat down at the table and carefully folded the paper apart. Normally I’d just rip it, too impatient to see what my present would be, but this felt too special and the moment too sacred to just ruin it like that.  
It was a box of chocolates. Just very small, I think there were about four sweets in it. In addition, it included a small note of Paul;

Dear John,  
You know I love you and I always will. Here are a couple of chocolates - of course I hope you are going to share them (with me), but if you want to you can eat them yourself. I know how much you like chocolate, after all.   
Love and kisses,  
Paul.

I smiled again, and picked up the note, tucking it away safely in one of my ‘personal draws’. That was how Cynthia used to call the draw I kept in my rubbish, the things she didn’t really need or wanted to know about. I know she was very strict about that kind of rules - she wouldn’t dig into my personal draws as well as I promised I wouldn’t take a peek in hers ( I actually did that a couple of times, but didn’t find anything interesting. I know she didn’t look into mine, because then she would’ve gotten so upset with me that she’d asked for a divorce straight away! It shows how much I trusted her in our years of marriage. It wasn‘t loveless, it just wasn‘t enough of the love I wanted - Paul. ). When I moved out of the house later, I found the paper and read it through for the last time - then I threw it away. Still, I do remember it exactly because it was important to me at that time. Obviously more important than song lyrics, I presume. 

Eventually, I saved the chocolates for a delicious - and I can honestly say the chocolates were delicious as well, especially whilst sharing them with Paul, half a sweet each - evening together whilst Cyn was paying a brief visit to a couple of friends of hers back in Liverpool, and Julian was sound asleep…

Now, years later, I am standing in the opening of my door with a small package in my hands that is exactly the same as the one I got all those years ago. The only differences between then and now, is that this one came by post and that I am scared to open it. Because, what if the note doesn’t say the same? 

I think it could scar me for the rest of my life. That’s why I don’t tuck away the note only like last time, but the whole box, still wrapped up and all that, hiding it safely in a draw behind piles of paper. Maybe I’ll have the guts to open it.

Some day.


End file.
